A Nice Day

Today he enjoyed coffee time even more than usual.  It started early and what he noticed first was on his walk to the bus stop.  At 6:00 a.m. it was still somewhat dark with dawn only beginning to display itself.  The temperature was 59 degrees causing him to feel the stirring of Fall.  He boarded the Poudre Express at 6:28 a.m. and didn't notice the bright sunrise until arriving at Harmony Transfer Station 15 minutes later.  "Daylight hours are fewer now that we're into September," he thought.  

After arriving at the CSU terminal the short walk to Mug's on Laurel was pleasant through which he was intent on not even glancing at his watch.  Time became inconsequential, so he instead focused on the gentle breeze noticing how the tree tops seemed to respond to it with joy.  If a tree is capable of expressing joy he noticed it this morning.  

The coffee shop appeared dimly lit when he finally got in.  His usual point of entry was still locked.  "What's going on," he quipped in the direction of a nearby squirrel.  He then strode around the corner and found option two, a fully functioning door. A little chatter at the counter greeted him with a few people patiently waiting their turn to place an order.  With there already being a line of patrons, he decided to pour himself an available drip brew and pay later.  He brings his own mug.  

Adrianna, the formidable Mug's manager, noticed his proclivity for sneaking a cup of brew out of turn and ignored her hesitancy to point it out to him when he finally did manage to make his pilfered "joe" legit.  "So, I saw that," she said at the register.  "Damn," he replied.  Big smiles met somewhere in the middle.  From that point forward numerous conversations were had with a number of "irregulars" as he and his coffee buddy Monte fondly refer to them as.  

Concluding a "chauffeured" ride home, as he was the only passenger, Peanut, the affable bus driver, wished him well at his Windsor drop and a nice day, too.  A nice day it is and a nice day it shall still become as hours always lie between now and later.  

Unlucky Joe

He was bothered by the colossal ketchup stain.  The Monday burger special at Lucky Joe's seemed like a good deal at $4.99, with fries!  He also realized, too late, that a big first bite can transform a burger into a lunch-time Vesuvian eruption!  Cool splattered ketchup resembles hot Vesuvian lava when it garnishes the belly-protruding catch point of a fairly new light green hoodie.   

And there was another victim.  A planned post-lunch shopping stop.  Vanity simply does not permit such a thing under the circumstances.  While a new shirt from Sierra Trading seemed obviously reasonable, his pride would prejudice the possibility.  

Driving non-stop and upon arriving home he stripped the sullied shirt from his body, offered a word of thanks to Proctor and Gamble, hit the soiled sweats with a hearty dose of Spray-N-Wash and pushed the start button.  While walking away he hoped that in about 30 minutes he would also be able to offer thanks to the General Electric Company?  

Never underestimate the power of a volcanic eruption, even if it occurs on the outdoor patio of an (Un)Lucky Joe's bar food restaurant.    

Escape to Joy

Today he feels alone.

A profound loneliness.

He seeks retreat,

to solitude and silence. 

“There’s too much noise!” 

Caught between two worlds

 not only created,

but one from which to escape.

Wandering about

he senses a shrinking world

pressing him into a 

tomb-like trance.

As gentle tears fall 

upon the redness of his cheeks

nourishing moisture births

a meditative epiphany. 

He feels freedom 

in loneliness.

No longer seeking escape,

but embrace.  

Within alone-ness

lies fortitude,

gifted by

gently flowing tears.

“Today I choose joy,” he says.

“Today I choose joy!”

Sightlines

 I sit comfortably chaired with one leg dangling over the other knee

sipping an iced brew succulent as a summer cherry.

He comes from my right, glaring at the movement of my eyes

as I notice shiny Florsheim loafers standing out against his ragged bottom,

encrusted street-stained jeans no longer blue.

Our eyes meet. 

“Like what you see?” says he sarcastically with a deepening scowl.

I bow - not to honor, but to hide.

 

I watch as he comes, moments later, from my left with a quickened pace.

Our eyes again meet.

He strides by, a silent scowl intact

turning squarely, carrying only his thoughts.

I bow - not to honor, but to hide. 

Honest Pride

 

As I walked to the bus stop this morning a Great Blue Heron had a message for me...

To stand with head held toward the sky, 

Is to hold a truth that will not die. 

With spine unbent and spirit wide,  

You meet the world with honest pride.

I wish I would listen more closely and often to nature's voice .  

The Way It Is

 The Way It Is

by

Lynn Unger

One morning you might wake up

to realize that the knot in your stomach 

had loosened itself and slipped away,

and that the pit of unfulfilled longing in your heart

had gradually, and without your really noticing, 

been filled in - patched like a pothole, not quite

the same as it was, but good enough.

And in that moment it might occur to you 

that your life, though not the way

you planned it, and maybe not entirely 

the way you wanted it, is nonetheless -

persistently, abundantly, miraculously -

exactly what it is.

And that's the way it is, Sunday May 31, 2026!

 

Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems, edited by Phyllis Cole-Dai and Ruby R. Wilson (Grayson Books, 2017), p. 31. 

Celebrating Life

 

Grace Mae Wartgow
(May 28, 1925 - August 25, 2010)

Today I send a birthday greeting to my beloved Mom.  Grace Wartgow (it feels good to simply write her name again) would be 101 years old. 

Your spiritual presence, Mom, still influences my life.  You were a wonderful Mom! 

I love you!

Peace

 On this Memorial Day weekend I'm remembering a song that, for many years, closed every worship service at a church I was attending.  Our rendition adjusted the lyrics so as to be as inclusive to as many people as possible in that setting.  It was also abbreviated because we sent one another from that experience together, some even arm-in-arm.  

Let there be peace on earth
and let it begin with me.
With every step I take
let this be my joyous creed:
To take each moment 
and live each moment
in peace, eternally.
Let there be peace on earth
and let it begin with me. 

Regardless of the specific words used, the enduring legacy of the song remains its simple, beautiful premise: peace cannot be forced from the top down; it must be cultivated quietly, starting with oneself.

How I long for peace among nations this Memorial Day weekend and how I wish I had a community of peace loving people to again sing it with.  May your day be special.  

One Letter At A Time

 

(image credit: Natalie Lynn Kindergarten)

As I began writing a journal entry today I wondered what words lay beneath the nib of my pen? I honestly didn't know, but didn't worry over it or over think it.  Words seem to always find their way onto a page.  I believe that, while sometimes elusive, words have purpose and my purpose at that moment was not to decide for them what their purpose at that moment in time would be.  Here's an example of what I mean:  some new words just notified me they want to be read on my phone in the form of a text message.  Should I stop paying attention, I wondered, to the words on my journal page so I can attend to the words in the text?  In fact, even newer words just flashed on my wrist watch which, thanks to words has become more than simply a watch. They're alerting me to the fact that it's time for me to take a couple of my medications.  I’ll pay attention to those words first, follow up with the words in the text message, and then—if those words allow it—return to assisting the words seeking expression in my journal. Aren’t words wonderful?

After ten minutes some new words did, in fact, return me to my journaling.  I must mention, though, that while taking my meds a few additional words showed up as an email that was "undeliverable."  The address had three "o's" instead of the required two "o's" in the word "outlook." I was struck by how easily even a word can get itself wrong, accentuating the importance of the individual letters that form it. 

Life, it seems to me, is like that.  One "letter" in life can altar reality just enough to make it feel "undeliverable."  The little things are a big deal.  As ink flows from the tip of the nib of my pen onto the page forming letters that form words that form sentences that form paragraphs that form chapters, so is the book of our life added to, one letter at a time, each and every minute of each and every hour of each and every day of each and every month of each and every year of every life.  Life is wonder-full, in both little and large ways.  

The photo above from Natalie Lynn Kindergarten along with the conclusion I've drawn about the importance of little things reminds me of Robert Fulghum's wonderful 1986 book: All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.       

The Gift of Haze

 

I again ventured to the Jacoby Meadows third floor deck on a beautiful afternoon.  My music choice is Native American meditation.  My visual mediation is Long's Peak obscured by a deep haze seeking balance with the cool air at elevation and the full sunshine warmth I feel sitting here.  I've often thought of this marvel as a battle between opposing elements.  Yet, no struggle is visible. "Battle" is the the wrong term. This hazy mountain skyline seems more like a sign of nature cooperating with itself, creating beauty within turbulence.  

How I wish we could find similar balance in the atmosphere of human turbulence, meaning more cooperation and fewer "battles."  I choose to believe that even a cold heart neighboring a warm heart can find it's center and foster balance within the haze of uncertainty through cooperation.  

I hope your day has been a cooperative one with both nature and neighbor.   

 

Captured

“Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one.”

Marcus Aurelius 

(Photo credit to Monte Stevens at montestevens.com who blogs a similar post therein.) 

I was there the day this good man was captured gazing thru the CSU Oval right in front of us. He is a coffee shop compadre whom both Monte and I appreciate every time our paths cross.  His affable smile brings balance to the "frown" of his tweed flat cap.  He and his cap are a harmonic pair.